


Sunshine Riptide

by justasock_x



Series: M A N I A by Fall Out Boy [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, Groping, Kissing, M/M, No Beta, Scenting, Sex Magic, abuse of Greek mythology to suit my porn needs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justasock_x/pseuds/justasock_x
Summary: The world tried to burn all the mercy out of me, but you know I wouldn't let it.Jaskier and Geralt meet a sea creature who knows where Jaskier came from.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: M A N I A by Fall Out Boy [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894084
Comments: 5
Kudos: 134





	Sunshine Riptide

**Author's Note:**

> Fics in this series are oneshots loosely based on the songs from the album M A N I A, by Fall Out Boy. Not beta-read, all mistakes are my own. Fandom knowledge comes exclusively from the TV series, other fics, and cursory Googling. 
> 
> (Extra apologies for the blatant misuse of Greek mythology to wrap up my story. Really. I was a Classics major, I should be ashamed.)

The Witcher and the bard trotted along in the blaze of the summer heat, mindful of the horses’ need to stop for water and rest. Geralt was as unbothered as always, not a stray drop of sweat or flyaway hair in the face of the sun’s oppressive glare. Jaskier, on the other hand, was stripped down to his breeches and thin chemise, which was sticking to his back with perspiration. He was more irritable than the horses, and Geralt almost regretted pointing them to Brugge. They’d been on their way down the coast to a small village in Verden that had rumors of dealings with sea monsters in exchange for blessings - a healthy babe, a good harvest, a new horse - when Geralt had been stopped by a merchant traveling the opposite way on the road out of town to advise of a decent sum in Brugge to take care of a werewolf. 

“It’s too hot to even _sing_ ,” Jaskier wailed during their next stop. The horses were grazing sedately and Geralt sighed heavily at the bard’s antics. Jaskier had grown steadily more miserable since they’d left Cidaris, and Geralt was itchy with the tension. 

“Jaskier,” he said impatiently, “just get in the water.”

The bard’s gaze dipped down to the ground, and he looked shy all of a sudden. “You won’t mind?” he asked, voice small.

Geralt sighed again, but this time it was fond. “Of course not. We can rest for a bit. Give Roach and Sugar a bit of a break.”

Jaskier’s smile nearly split his face and he almost tripped in his haste to strip out of his clothes. Naked as the day he was born, he splashed into the modest creek. It only came up to his belly button at its highest, but he still looked delighted when he glanced back at Geralt on the edge of the water watching him. Geralt smiled in encouragement and the bard dipped below the water’s surface for a few long moments. He came back up and flipped his hair out of his eyes before making his way over to the edge of the creek.

“Come in,” he cajoled, holding out a hand. Geralt wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

“No thanks.”

Jaskier pouted. “It’s so nice, Geralt, honestly.” 

Despite the attempts, Geralt stood firm, and Jaskier rolled his eyes but went back to splashing around in the water while the Witcher checked their horses over and gave them each an apple to munch.

“Come on, bard,” Geralt called eventually. “We’ll never make it to Brugge by sundown if you keep fooling around.” 

Jaskier grumbled but emerged from the water, skin dripping and almost iridescent in some places. The fine webbing that appeared between his fingers and toes ever since he’d taken Emmaline’s potion would go away before he was redressed, but the few glossy blue-green scales that sometimes formed took longer to fade. Most of them were on his stomach and back, but he had a few that appeared on his throat and thighs if he spent too long in the water. Geralt had never seen anything like them - they were similar to fish scales, but much larger and more durable. Each one was a different shade of blue, and when multiple came out in one spot it was like a patchwork of color against Jaskier’s otherwise smooth skin.

“You would think your blood would run colder,” Geralt said eventually, once they’d been back on the road for some time. 

Jaskier stared at him. “What?”

“Well, sirens and fish and other sea, uh, creatures, are cold-blooded,” the Witcher explained. 

“Creatures,” Jaskier echoed flatly. 

“Not that you’re a creature.” 

“Right.” 

Geralt winced and stopped talking. Jaskier didn’t attempt to initiate conversation either, and the rest of the ride to Brugge was fraught with tension and Jaskier’s long side glances when he thought Geralt wasn’t paying attention. A bit of inquiring led them to a local farmer, who was thrilled to see the famed White Wolf and his bard. 

“Thank the gods,” he cried when he spotted the pair approaching him in the tavern. He was sitting with a group of men and women discussing the beast, and they all fell silent as the Witcher spoke.

“A werewolf?” 

“Aye, sir. Big one, from what we’ve seen it done to the bodies.” The farmer shivered theatrically. Jaskier, unimpressed, moved over to the bar to negotiate a room for the night. Geralt got the distinct impression he was in trouble and cursed himself for his poor choice of words during their ride earlier. _At least I didn’t say monsters_ , he thought humorlessly. He agreed to handle the werewolf the following evening, and left the group to their carousing. Glancing around, the Witcher spotted Jaskier sitting at a table in the corner with a mug in front of him. Geralt frowned when he noted there was no mug for him. 

“An ale,” the Witcher said brusquely as he approached the worn bar, dropping a few coins onto the polished wood. The barmaid stared at him, eyes narrowed for a moment, before she snatched the coins up and tucked them into the pocket of her apron. She pulled a tankard from under the bar and wiped it out with her skirt before filling it and shoving it across the counter towards the Witcher. He took it and tipped it in her direction before taking a sip. Wincing at the acrid taste of bad ale, he sat down in front of his angry bard, who was refusing to meet his eyes as he played with the ring of jewels on his slim finger. Geralt waited patiently.

“ _Creatures_ ,” the bard said eventually. His blue eyes finally met Geralt’s, and they were wet and furious. “I’m a _creature_ to you, Geralt? Something to hunt now?” 

Geralt felt, for a ridiculous few moments, that he might throw up. “Upstairs,” he finally managed, jerking his head towards the rickety steps. 

Jaskier slammed himself back from the table and said, “Fine,” before he turned and walked up the steps without a glance back. Geralt stared up after him for a moment before he stood, downed his ale, and followed.

“Jaskier,” he began as he entered the room, only to be hit in the face with a lumpy pillow from the bed.

“How dare you?” the bard exclaimed, striding up to Geralt as the Witcher kicked the pillow out of the way and shut the door.

“Jaskier, please listen to me,” Geralt said forcefully, taking the bard’s face between his hands. Jaskier went silent, his chest heaving and his eyes shining. Geralt sighed.

“You’re not a creature, Jaskier. You’re not a siren, or a selkie, or a fish. You’re a person. You’re my lover. I-,” Geralt cleared his throat and tried again. “I apologize if my words hurt you.”

Jaskier blinked. “Oh. Um. Wow. I was all worked up and ready to go on a tirade and you just...apologized. Like that. Okay.” He bit his lip and stared up into Geralt’s eyes searchingly. “This doesn’t change anything?”

“Gods, no,” Geralt answered, shaking his head and pressing a kiss to the bard’s forehead. “Jaskier, I asked you to bind yourself to me. I wear a ring that tells the world I belong to someone. You silly, stubborn man. I’m not good at words, bard, but I will try harder.”

Jaskier felt the tension leave his body as he sagged into Geralt’s strong hold. He wrapped his own arms around the Witcher in response and pressed his face into Geralt’s chest, just breathing him in. The Witcher always smelled like leather and horse, like ice and danger and a hint of iron. Jaskier’s nose was getting better every day, and even now, he could pick up a faint hint of smoke in Geralt’s scent he’d never noticed before. He wondered if his own scent smelled as intimate and familiar to Geralt as the Witcher’s did to him.

“I think part of me is scared to know because I don’t want you to look at me like I’m a monster,” Jaskier admitted eventually. His voice was quiet and rough in the silence of the room, and Geralt’s grip around him tightened.

“I’m not going to leave you, Julian,” Geralt said earnestly. “I didn’t offer you that ring lightly. No matter what we find out about where you come from, you’re not a monster. Nothing will change.”

“I know,” the bard answered, pulling back a little to look at his Witcher with a faint, fond smile on his face. “I know that.”

* * *

Geralt took down the werewolf the following evening while Jaskier played the tavern, and by the time they got to Verden they were three days late but their purses were much heavier. Geralt considered the trade-off worth it as they settled into a bed at the local bath house. It was less an inn and appeared more like a hostel-slash-brothel, from what Geralt could tell. Jaskier began chatting with the whores and drunks immediately, carefully prying information out of them that might be useful for Geralt as the Witcher took stock of their accommodations. The first floor was the bar, and behind the bar and down a short hallway were the doors to the rooms. The ‘doors’ themselves were thin pieces of wood that swung open and shut and afforded no privacy but Geralt knew that the real lure of this place was underground. This bath house was known for luxurious freshwater baths - both hot and cold - and the secret pleasures that took place in them underneath the main floor. The women and men who worked in the bath house were said to know things that not even the filthiest whores in the most depraved lands could envision of pleasure - how to bring it, to wield it over their lover until they were exhausted and trembling. Geralt knew that it would be as good a place to start as any, since men stupid with orgasm typically had loose lips, and whores liked to talk to sweet boys like Jaskier, who was currently making eyes at a busty brunette while she talked animatedly. Geralt shook his head, amused, and approached them to take the bard gently by the arm. 

“To our room?” he murmured, inclining his head politely to the woman he’d interrupted. She smiled, somehow charmed despite his rudeness. 

Jaskier nodded, bid his friend farewell, and let Geralt take him to the room they were sharing towards the back of the bath house. The bard’s eyebrows nearly went into his hairline when he saw the door, and Geralt shrugged. _Nothing to be done,_ it said. The bard sighed but nodded and pushed his way inside. 

As soon as the flimsy door swung shut behind them, Geralt pressed up against Jaskier and drew their mouths together firmly. The bard gasped, and Geralt took the opportunity to slide his tongue into the smaller man’s mouth, exploring him thoroughly. Jaskier gripped the shoulders of Geralt’s tunic in his fists, pressing forward into the kiss, greedy for more. Geralt pulled away and stared at the bard, lips swollen and wet with spit.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what brought this on?” Jaskier asked, bringing one hand up to press his fingers against his own bottom lip, testing the tenderness of the sensitive skin.

“The smell of this place,” Geralt said, a non-answer before he clarified. “The smells of arousal and sex and human and lust are all swirling in here, from all sides. It can be overwhelming.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened with understanding before a devilish grin took over his face. “So I might be able to convince you to enjoy the baths with me?” he asked innocently. "Marietta was saying the baths are where they get the best tips." Geralt rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the warm scent of lust closing in around him. It smelled even more potent now that Jaskier was starting to get aroused as well, his own summer smell going thick and sweet with desire.

“Stop it,” Geralt ground out as the smell bloomed.

“Nope,” Jaskier said, popping the _p_ with a cheeky grin. Geralt growled, and the bard giggled.

“Come on,” he wheedled, pressing himself up against Geralt completely, “don’t you think it will be fun? Fucking me in front of a bunch of hot, naked people?”

“I’d rather keep you to myself.” The words were out before Geralt could stop them, but they were true and he didn’t regret saying them. He _was_ selfish with Jaskier. Geralt would take Jaskier into himself if he could, protect the bard deep inside his muscle and bone and viscera - a living, breathing cage to keep his pretty, flighty lover safe from anyone who might do him harm. 

“I would never want to share, just to clarify,” Jaskier said mildly, running a fingertip over Geralt’s stubbled jaw. “Gods, it’s selfish of me but I don’t ever want another soul to feel you come inside them so long as I live.”

Geralt growled, his fingers tightening on Jaskier’s hips where his hands had unconsciously drifted. “Stop _talking_ ,” he pleaded, pressing his forehead against the bard’s shoulder, breathing him in through his mouth, the taste of spicy lust and sunshine on his tongue and in the back of his throat.

“Or what?” Jaskier drawled, running fingertips through the length of Geralt’s hair as he tugged the tie free and let the strands fall around the Witcher’s face, still pressed into his throat and inhaling wetly.

The smells were thick and cloying, and Geralt could feel his head swimming. There was no reason he couldn’t take Jaskier downstairs, he thought dazedly, his golden eyes unfocused as he considered fucking Jaskier bent over a hot spring, his perfect ass surrouding Geralt’s cock as he fucked him brutally. The bard went a little tense against him, clearly concerned at his lack of grunts in response to his teasing words.

“Geralt?” Jaskier murmured, his fingers tangling insistently in the long hair at the Witcher’s nape and tugging, forcing Geralt to bare his face to the bard’s searching gaze. His blue eyes were clear and worried, and Geralt tried to tell him everything was fine, but his tongue was thick in his mouth and all he could taste was the syrupy sweet lust that hung heavy in the air and in his lungs, filling up every part of him until he was ready to burst.

“Okay,” Jaskier said, “I’m getting you outside. Something is wrong.”

Geralt made some sort of noise to tell Jaskier that he didn’t want to go outside, thank you very much, he wanted to drag Jaskier over to the pitiful lump of a mattress and fuck him until they both passed out, but his body wasn’t cooperating and Jaskier led him with minimal fuss right out the front door. As soon as they were outside, the Witcher felt his head begin to clear, and he took gasping breaths of fresh air until he could finally _think_ again. 

“It’s not the springs that are popular,” Jaskier said, once Geralt met his gaze with clear eyes. The Witcher shook his head.

“It’s whatever’s doing _that_ ,” he agreed, grim. 

“So you think the rumors are true?” Jaskier asked, reaching out to place a hand on the Witcher’s back and start to rub, his instincts urging him to soothe the slight wheeze he could hear in Geralt’s chest as his lungs took in plain oxygen, unaffected by whatever magic swirled inside the bath house. 

“They are definitely true,” Geralt corrected with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever the people are bargaining with in this town, it’s the strongest thing I’ve ever seen. Magic doesn’t affect Witchers like this. This magic is ancient, it would have to be.” He eyed Jaskier speculatively. "And it didn't affect you." 

“Do you think it’s related to me?” the bard asked quietly.

“I have no idea,” Geralt admitted, “but we’ll find out.”

* * *

“You gotta summon ‘er,” one man said seriously. Another man with a long red beard shook his head and shoved the first.

“Ya don’t,” he disagreed. “Was a young boy, he came righ’ ta me when I needed ‘im.”

Geralt rubbed his temples. This wasn’t helping at all. Jaskier had suggested they call a small town meeting that night at the tavern, inviting anyone who knew anything to come and talk to Geralt, with the promise of anonymity if they wanted it. Geralt had also had to promise not to kill whatever was helping the town before anyone would say a word, and now that they were all speaking, none of them were saying the same thing.

“Thank you for your help, everyone,” Jaskier announced, clapping briefly to get everyone’s attention. “We’ll take this information and treat it with the delicacy it deserves!”

The group began to disperse at the bard’s clear dismissal, and the two of them made their way down to the ocean at the very edge of town. For a while, they just stared down into the water from one of the jagged cliffs that overlooked the sea. The moon was a thin crescent in the sky, casting a soft glow over the dark waters below. 

“I think it’s safe to say that if the same creature is helping all of the people, it can appear whenever and however it chooses. Does that help us?” the bard wondered aloud. Geralt didn’t have an answer for him, so he simply let out a noncommittal hum. The bard rolled his eyes but let the issue drop.

He took a seat at the very edge of the cliff with his feet dangling towards the choppy waves, and after a long period of silence, he began to sing. Geralt watched from over the bard’s shoulder, entranced, as the waves began to rise, their violence sending them crashing up against the cliffs so hard that the Witcher felt a fine spray of sea mist hit his face. 

“Whatever you’re doing,” Geralt said over the crash of the waves and the bard’s rising melody, “don’t stop.” 

Jaskier kept singing, and soon his voice was rising to notes Geralt _knew_ he had never heard him hit before. The waves were roaring and furious, white caps spraying up onto the cliffs and into the bard’s face, but even with the saltwater streaming down from his wet bangs, he continued to sing. Soon, the waves began to take shape as they rose, and a beautiful woman was deposited right next to Jaskier. The bard was startled and he missed a note, but the woman began to sing with him and their melodies mixed beautifully once he righted himself. Geralt’s skin broke out into goosebumps as the hair on the back of his neck rose up. This singing was ethereal, inhuman, enchanting, beautiful. _Dangerous singing_ , Geralt realized, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the spell the two were weaving as their voices carried into the sky and across the waves. Slowly, the two ceased, their voices ringing out clearly across the ocean.

“Nerites,” the woman whispered, bringing a pale hand to his face and touching it to his cheek. “We thought you were lost to us forever.”

“Who are you?” the bard asked, voice shaking. Geralt could smell his fear, acrid and strong, and he wanted to rush over and take Jaskier into his arms, protect him from whatever he was going to learn from this mysterious woman. "Who is Nerites?"

“You are Nerites. I am Amphitrite,” the woman said kindly, “and I am your sister.”

Geralt interjected, hating himself for doing so. “The bath house in town,” he began carefully, “the rumors about the favors from the sea creatures of this ocean?”

“Our gifts are given only to those who worship us truly,” Amphitrite said, clearly affronted by his carefully-veiled accusation. “We are not devils, we do not barter with humans. We bless those who honor us, as any god does.”

“How did I end up in Redania if this is where I’m from?” Jaskier demanded, drawing the woman’s attention back to him once more. Her eyes softened. "I have a name, it's Julian. I go by Jaskier."

“Did you know,” she responded as she gently stroked along the bard’s cheek, “that Nereids are female, traditionally?” Jaskier shook his head, clearly confused. “We are water nymphs, my sweet Jaskier,” she clarified. “We are born of Nereus and Doris and we ride alongside Poseidon, protecting the shores and those who travel the oceans.”

Amphitrite’s eyes shone as she looked out at the water, now calm and lapping sedately against the cliffs. “We are female. And yet you, my sweetest, only brother, were born. There were several who feared that you may become too powerful, may harness the power of Poseidon himself, and so they banished you from us. You were lost to us forever, it was declared so.”

Geralt could see the pain in the woman’s eyes as she spoke of losing the bard, and Jaskier’s own eyes were bright with emotion. Jaskier swallowed hard and took her hand from his face, holding it carefully between his own.

“I don’t belong to the sea,” he told her, regret clear in his voice. “As much as I’ve grown to love being around it, as much as I’ve always been drawn to the coast, I belong on land. With Geralt.” 

“I do not think you could come back even if you wanted to, Jaskier,” Amphitrite admitted, eyes dropping to the rocky cliff underfoot. “I smell Emmaline on you, and I am guessing she sent you to me.” 

“She did,” Geralt confirmed, voice low.

“Then she knew,” Amphitrite responded, shaking her head. “The potion she gave you, it’s the closest you’ll ever get to the water form you would’ve had. Your magic is locked away, Jaskier. Probably forever.” 

“Why did she send us to you if she already knew the answers?” Geralt demanded, folding his arms.

“She may have known Jaskier’s origins, but she doesn’t know his story,” the Nereid answered, shrugging. “Sometimes, you need to talk to your family.” 

Jaskier started to sniffle, and Geralt and Amphitrite both moved in at the same time. They hovered awkwardly for a moment before Jaskier threw himself forward, into the woman’s arms, and she held him tight while Geralt stood to the side, stiff and watching. The Witcher’s senses were on high alert for any sudden movements or sounds, but he was also concerned about how this would affect Jaskier. He’d just found out he’d been banished from the home he hadn’t known he was missing, and his human family was arguably more complicated than his apparently-old-god one.

“I have to return to the sea,” Amphitrite said after a long moment of holding her brother against her, rubbing his back and soothing him as he wept into her shoulder. Jaskier pulled away from her with what appeared to be great effort, his eyes red and swollen. He looked tired, and Geralt came closer to encircle the weary man with his strong arms. Jaskier leaned against him almost immediately, and Amphitrite smiled at them as she cocked her head.

“You’re in love, sweet Jaskier,” the nymph said, clapping once. “May the gods of old and new bless you both to many years of happiness. Witcher, heed me. This man, though not at full power, is still not to be trifled with. Protect him, yes, but let him protect you as well.” Her gaze softened. “I see a blessed path ahead of you both. Jaskier, Geralt. Visit us again, yes? I’ll tell our sisters, and they’ll come to see you too.”

“I will,” Jaskier vowed, and Geralt felt it in his bones, how he would move heaven and earth to make the vow true whenever the bard wanted it.

Amphitrite began to sing again, and the waves slowly rose for her as Jaskier joined in, their voicing twining together until the nymph was engulfed by the water and disappeared, her voice fading until Jaskier’s was alone, clear and strong. His faded as the water receded, and they were left staring at the quiet ocean, soaked to the bone and reeling. Geralt still held the bard in his arms, and he tightened his grip when Jaskier began to tremble.

“I don’t belong anywhere,” the bard murmured finally, voice thick.

“Of course you do,” Geralt disagreed immediately, pulling back to catch Jaskier’s eyes, his own fierce. “You belong with me, little bird.”


End file.
